by Herb Goering
One morning when Dad was at the potato patch adjacent to and at the East end of a 20 acre barley field, he noticed that the heads had fallen off of the barley stalks in the Southweast corner of the field. On examination, he observed that portion of the field was infested with worms which were inching their way up the straw and chewing through it, causing the heads to fall to the ground. The invaders were on the march Northward. Dad had intended to harvest the barley with the combine, but in order to mitigate the damage he decided to cut the barley with the binder as it could be done immediately. After it was cut, the grain would ripen and dry. If he waited to harvest with the combine the damage would continue for several more days until the grain would be ripe and dry enough to store in a grain bin. So the field was cut with the binder.
It was a hot, muggy June afternoon when one of my younger brothers (I think it was John) and I set out for the part of the barley field nearest the house, about a quarter of a mile away. We were stepping high with great enthusiasm to start the big job of shocking the barley. Of course, one could not go to the harvest field without a water jug, which on this occasion was a karo syrup jug wrapped with burlap soaked with water. Evaporation would keep the water inside the jug cool.
When we arrived at the field, we attacked the task in hand with gusto, but after we had put up several shocks in the first windrow, we began to feel the effects of the heat and high humidity. By the time we reached the end of the windrow, I decided that I needed to take a break. So I shaped the final shock to provide the maximum shade as little brother and I sat down for a rest. We were on the highest part of the field and as I looked down on the windrows, there appeared to be very little space between them. The more I looked, the more it seemed to be an impossible job. Somehow I just could not command the will power to continue with the work. For the rest of the afternoon, our only movement was an occasional swig from the jug and shifts in our positiion as necessary to remain in the shade as the sun made its way across the sky. Finally we concluded that it was time to go home to do evening chores.
At supper time were were informed that we were going to visit Walt and Della. I was sitting in the living room wating on others to get ready when Dad came in and sat on a chair nearby. He inquired about our progress that afternoon. I didn’t know what to say and finally blurted out how little we had done, and what an impossible job it was. Dad didn’t scold me. Instead he told me to just put up one shock at a time and to keep looking back to what had been accomplished and not to worry about what was left to do. By doing that, before you know it, the job would be done.
I didn’t realize until many years later the wisdom of his advice. Also, as I began to understand some of the difficulties that he had overcome in his life, I realized how profoundly qualified he was to give it. He learned that when the situation was such that one would be overwhelmed if one dwelt too much on the task ahead, it was necessary to take it on in small increments and to keep a positive attitude.
All of us have been in situations which are somewhat analogous to the day I sat on the shady side of a barley shock and looked down on what seemed an impossible task. If we yield to temptatiion, inertia will set in and nothing will be done. So Dad’s advice is still timely, “One shock at a time, look back to what has been accomplished” (count your blessings and keep a positive attitude). I will add, “trust in the Lord to take care of what is beyond our capability.”
Incidentally I am quite certain that the above described incident occurred on or about June 18, 1938. On that evening we visited Walt and Della at Elyria, the Morris’ were there and there was ice cream and cake and a small child which received a lot of attention. I think it was Pat’s first birthday, although I have no memory on anyone saying so and the evidence is all circumstantial.
August 22, 1996
Herb Goering